


Go Right to the Source

by shiphitsthefan



Series: SPN Coldest Hits [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Animal Transformation, Anthropomorphic, Awkward Conversations, Awkward Sexual Situations, Bad Sex, Bobby Wants Everyone Out of His House, Bottom Castiel, Curses, Episode: s05e01 Sympathy for the Devil, Humor, Love Confessions, M/M, Sam Wants a Dog, Season/Series 05, Top Dean, Unforeseen Consequences of the End of the World, awkward everything really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 13:05:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9386537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiphitsthefan/pseuds/shiphitsthefan
Summary: There’s been a lull since Bobby, Sam, and Dean made it back home from Buffalo. Even the monsters have hunkered down in whatever the equivalent of a supernatural bomb shelter is (though Bobby knows it can’t be nearly as good as his). If anybody wants Bobby's opinion, the end of the world's been a little boring so far, though Rufus has started calling again, which is nicer than Bobby will ever admit to.Naturally, Dean decides to take matters into his own hands and make life entirely too interesting. Good thing Sam has an angel on speed dial, because there is definitely trouble afoot.Ahoof. Whatever.***The long-awaited sequel to "Of Course, Of Course" which literally no one was waiting for.¹ Reading that first isn't necessary. It's not like the Winchesters ever do all of their homework, either.¹The author has since learned that, in a miraculous turn of events, people were, in fact, waiting for it. Wild.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is unbetaed, unless you count [aerialiste](http://archiveofourown.org/users/aerialiste/pseuds/aerialiste/works) crylaughing over instant message. :D

The end of the world had honestly been a little boring so far. Not that Bobby ever truly sought out more excitement than his twelve-gauge could handle--he’d just expected more of a fuss, is all. When impending doom rises and shines every morning, life should feel less normal. Then again, Bobby leads a less-than-normal life already, so he supposes his opinion doesn’t necessarily count.

There’s been a lull since they made it back home from Buffalo, and even the monsters have hunkered down in whatever the equivalent of a supernatural bomb shelter is (though Bobby knows it can’t be nearly as good as his). His boys are home, which means his fridge is perpetually empty, but Bobby doesn’t know of any better way to go out than with his family, which means keeping them alive as long as possible, so he just keeps his mouth shut and makes more supply runs than expected.

Rufus has started calling more often. To think all it took was an apocalypse and a broken spine.

Bobby doesn’t hold ill will--”Ain’t got enough time to be pissed off at you,” he’d told Rufus when the Life had turned them both too sour--but he does miss their odd cantankerous companionship. And the sex, of course. Bobby had never bothered making a post-Rufus game plan; he figured one of the other of them would just _die_ and be done with it. Still, it’s nice to start the day talking to an old flame, regardless of how much he’d like to be given a chance to rekindle it.

The phone’s ringing and Bobby’s pouring the last dregs of the whiskey into his morning coffee. They both grumble a greeting at each other, like the properly old hunters they are. That’s as far as they get before there’s a _thud_ upstairs--”The hell have they broken up there now?”

Rufus snorts. “Didn’t think Hell needed any help being broken at this point.”

“Yeah, you think you’re funny, don’t y--”

“Bobby!” Sam skids into the kitchen sideways, bare feet squeaking against the floor. He flails his arms, trying to miss the wheelchair, and thankfully manages to right himself instead of landing in Bobby’s lap. “Something’s wrong with Dean.”

“Good morning, Sam. What’s not new?”

Sam scowls at him. “We need your help.”

“That’s never new, either,” Rufus says as Bobby puts him on speakerphone.  “Not enough hunters in the world to fix everything your kids break.”

Bobby ignores him, instead asking Sam, “What did you idjits do now?”

“We were looking through your books--”

_“You moved my books?”_

“Simmer down, Bobby,” says Rufus, “I can always help you kill ‘em if they don’t put your library back to rights.”

“--and we found this spell--” Bobby groans, but Same keeps going. “--and it turns out that Dean read it wrong--”

“Of course he fucking did,” mumbles Rufus.

“--and now he’s half a horse.”

Bobby blinks. He downs half of his coffee in one go, then blinks again. “That spell happen to be Medean in origin?”

“I think so?” Sam finally sits down at the kitchen table, lanky limbs sprawling. “It said it was supposed to curse Lucifer but--”

“A lover,” Bobby corrects. “It’s supposed to curse a lover. Jesus, you read it wrong, alright.”

Sam takes the information in stride; he’s all too aware of how great he and Dean are at ruining the day before they save it. “Anyway, I went across the hall to wake up Dean, and he’d decided to cast it himself before I got up. He slams the door shut in my face because, and I quote, ‘I have a huge dick and a tail and I’m fucking traumatized enough for both of us.’”

Bobby runs a hand over his face. “It’s a fucking curse.”

“I know; we covered that.”

“No, I mean that it’s a curse you have to fuck away.”

Sam scrunched up his nose. “So what you’re saying is that Dean has to have sex--”

“--to uncentaur himself, yes.”

“One-two-three, not it,” says Rufus. “Holy _shit,_ am I glad I stayed with the Harvelles.”

Bobby drinks the rest of his coffee, making a face at the pure whiskey and coffee grounds in the bottom of his mug. “Well I sure as shit ain’t volunteering, and Sam--”

“Yeah, that’s…” Sam shudders, arms folding across his chest as he tries to collapse in on himself. “That’s never happening.”

“Jo?” Rufus suggests.

“I ain’t askin’ little Joanna Beth to take a goddamn horse cock, Rufus.”

“Maybe Ellen?”

 _“You_ wanna ask her?”

There’s a long pause on the other end of the line before Rufus asks, “So who does that leave us with?”

Bobby sighs, and Sam pulls out his cell phone.

 

* * *

 

It isn’t news to Bobby that he needs more insulation in his house, but only now does he understand the true importance of soundproofing. He’s also highly considering installing padded walls in his living room, because the copulating upstairs is going to drive him crazy.

Sam and he are doing their level best to ignore the noise from the second floor, and also to ignore each other. Bobby has never found the social section of the newspaper so interesting, though, and Sam is definitely holding the classifieds upside-down.

The first fifteen or twenty minutes post Castiel’s arrival had been awkward enough for Bobby, what with having to listen to Sam explain the situation and Castiel’s eyes rolling so hard that Bobby legitimately worried about them falling out. When Sam had told him what was necessary, however, Castiel had blanched, at which point Bobby worried about his eyes just popping out completely from how much they were bulging from their sockets. Castiel had started worrying his tie, and shifting his weight from one foot to the other, and staring and staring and forgetting to blink.

Bobby never thought he’d see an angel worry about getting fucked, but the apocalypse is a goddamn menace like that.

So Castiel had eventually wandered upstairs--after Sam coaxed and then practically pushed him up the staircase--and then there had been the three minutes where Castiel’s staring at the door could literally be heard in the kitchen. That had ended when Bobby banged on the ceiling with the end of a broom, which made Dean open the door to yell.

“H-h-hey, Cas,” he said.

A long silence, and then, “Hello, Dean,” and Bobby’s really got to get around to teaching that poor man--angel--person thing some new greetings. “I heard you were experiencing...physical discomfort.”

Dean snorted. “That’s one way of puttin’ it.”

“Sam told me that you have a tail, hooves, and an unnaturally large penis.”

“Oh my God, I’m going to take him out back and shoot him.”

“Shouldn’t that be reserved for the half-horse?” Sam opined from in front of the coffee pot. Bobby steadfastly ignored him and started praying for more liquor to appear in the cabinet.

Castiel coughed; it echoed in the hallway. “I am here to be of service.”

“Wait, wait, hold on. What...what exactly do you mean by that?” asked Dean.

“I mean that you are going to fuck me,” and Sam sprayed coffee all over the counter.

He’d cleaned it up, and then he and Bobby sat right there at the table, listening to easily the worst pornography ever created by humanity. The Host. Whatever, Bobby wasn’t particularly interested in the details. He’s never been less interested in details in his entire fucking _life._

“Have you had to hear Dean have sex before?” Bobby didn’t want to ask, but there’s no way any son of his can be this terrible at dirty talk. He’d given a pretty thorough sex ed talk to them; God knew they weren’t going to get any kind of an education from either school or John.

Sam groaned. “I really wish the answer to that was no.”

“Is it always...like this?”

“No,” Sam replied. “He’s...Dean seems to be proficient from what I’ve had to hear through the bathroom wall. Sometimes from outside the room.” He cleared his throat and added, “Every once in a while out in the bar. Or from the car. With the radio turned on.”

Bobby considered eating the ad inserts. Maybe newspaper ink was poisonous.

“Look, Cas,” Dean began upstairs, “there’s no way you’re taking this without lube and stretching.”

“I am prepared.”

“No, dude, lube is fucking important.” Dean chuckled. _“Fucking_ important. Get it?”

“I don’t find that humorous.”

Sam laughed nervously. “Yeah, nobody does,” and Bobby agreed nonverbally. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to verb, at all.

“This is...Cas, this is the size of my arm.”

And there went Sam’s coffee again, this time all over Bobby’s newspaper.

“I do have eyes, Dean.”

“Did you...did you mojo your asshole?”

More uncomfortable silence from every room in the house. Maybe even the porch. Bobby would have still been embarrassed if _he_ was the front porch.

“Oh my God, you mojoed your asshole.”

“Why do you insist on appropriating and then grammatically misusing that word?”

“Appropriwhat now?”

Sam’s head _thunked_ against the wall. “Why can’t they just screw and get it over with?”

“Because they’re both surprisingly wordy motherfuckers.” Bobby shook his head. “Forget I said that last bit.”

“Forgotten.”

Castiel asked, “Where should I place myself for optimum sexual intercourse?”

“You’re lucky I have a permaboner,” said Dean, “because otherwise I would be limp as shit right now.”

“I don’t see anything remotely lucky about this situation.” Castiel paused briefly, and the bed squeaked, and Bobby’s mind went to distinctly horrible places. “Also I would seek out the services of a medical professional if your excrement is ‘limp’.”

“It’s a figure of--goddammit, nevermind, let’s just get this over with.”

Which brings them to now, where Sam is resolutely admiring the back door, possibly looking through the window and imagining his life was even in the same relative zip code as sane. Bobby is watching the coffee inside his mug ripple with every pound of the bed frame against the wall upstairs. If he recalls his cinema correctly, there should be a Tyrannosaurus screaming its way down the stairs any minute.

“Are you seriously just gonna lie back and think of Heaven while I’m fucking you?” Dean says incredulously.

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

“That would be completely inappropriate.”

_Thump. Thump._

“Well could you at least _pretend_ to enjoy yourself? You’re making me feel like the special guest star on _Law & Order.” _

_Thump. Thump._

“I seem to recall you asking me not to lie.”

_Thump. Thump-thump._

“You’re an awful lay, you know that?”

_Thump._

Sam brushes a particularly large chunk of ceiling plaster from his hair. “How long is this going to take?”

“At this rate,” says Bobby, “we’ll be here ‘til the end of the world. So, next Thursday, I suppose.”

The thunking stops upstairs. “Am I even hitting your prostate?”

“I honestly have no idea,” Cas replies. “This is all profoundly uncomfortable.”

“Shit. You want me to pull out?”

“This is the cure for the curse. The one you managed to put on yourself.”

Bobby fishes another hunk of plaster out of his coffee, trying to remember how he and Rufus managed to fuck back when Bobby had been cursed. It’s been so many years, though, since that day of frankly _amazing_ sex. It probably helped that they’d had sex before, Bobby thinks. Maybe the ugly bumping upstairs would be going better if Dean had gotten his head out of his ass before today and gotten in Castiel’s, instead.

Or maybe the other way around. That boy had always seemed a bottom to Bobby.

“I gotta call Rufus,” Bobby says as Dean and Castiel continue to argue upstairs. “We’ve gotta get those two going before I lose my liquid breakfast.”

“Why are we even sitting here?” asks Sam as Bobby dials the phone.

 _“I’m_ sitting here because it’s my goddamn house,” Bobby replies, receiver to his ear, “and _you’re_ here because I ain’t listenin’ to this alone.”

Rufus picks up on the second ring. “Hey, Bobby,” he says. “How’s Mr. Ed?”

“Underperforming.”

“Damn. So, what can I do for you?”

Bobby closes his eyes; he can’t look at Sam while he’s talking about his sex life. “You remember how, exactly, we made it work out?”

“Very well, as I recall,” says Rufus, chuckling. “That was a fantastic fucking day. Coulda put you out to stud.”

“I…” Bobby shouldn’t be this choked up over the memory, but that isn’t stopping him. “That was a good day.”

“First kiss, right?”

Bobby smiles fondly. “And a lot more than one.”

Rufus sighs, ending with a little laugh, and Bobby remembers that, too, how blissed out he looked beneath him and above him and beside him. Castiel deserves that. He’s more than earned a chance to feel what’s good about being human.

“What I’m asking,” Bobby starts again, “is how we got you comfortable. Because it is obvious--”

“Very,” Sam chimes in, rifling through Bobby’s cabinets.

“--That neither one of them are havin’ a good time.”

“Hmm.” The line goes silent as Rufus thinks. “He turn satyr like you?”

“No, he fucked up royally and went full centaur.”

“Wasn’t there some Russian lady that got laid by her stallion on the regular?”

Bobby calls out, “Hey, Sam.”

“Where are the coffee filters?”

“In the coffee canister. You remember a ye old Russian woman that got fucked by a horse?”

Sam turns his head and narrows his eyes, reaching for the canister blindly. “You mean Catherine the Great?”

“That’s the one.” Rufus’ snap is loud in Bobby’s ear.

“It was a legend,” continues Sam, dumping the remaining sludge out of the carafe. “Story goes that she put the horse in a sling, got under the horse, and before anything could happen, the sling broke and she was crushed by the horse.”

“Oh,” Bobby says, scrunching his nose. “Oh, yeah, that ain’t gonna work.”

“Fucking...fucking _fuck!”_ shouts Dean above them. The sexual accords have apparently gone poorly. “This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me.”

“You went to Hell,” Castiel reminds him in a deadpan voice so full of gravel that Bobby half expects the potholes in his driveway to be refilled.

“I feel like I’m trying to fist you, and I am _really_ not into that.”

“If it makes you feel better,” says Castiel, “I have had my hands inside of you.”

“No, that does not make me feel better.”

Rufus whispers into the receiver, “Jesus, Bobby, get me on speaker already. This is better than our telenovelas.”

“This is--oh goddammit, Cas, you’re a virgin, aren’t you?” and Dean sounds like he’s in physical pain far beyond having a persistent erection and a brand new horizontal back. Castiel must have nodded, because Dean says, “I wanted to make it good for you. I didn’t want this.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was gonna find you a brothel or something,” Dean tells him. “Get you set up right. Taken care of. If you’re gonna be human, then you need to know that not everything about being mortal sucks.”

Bobby grins in spite of himself. He didn’t do such a bad job in Singer Sex Ed, after all.

“I would not have enjoyed that, either,” Castiel says as Sam takes his seat. All eyes are riveted on the ceiling, blinking out plaster dust as needed. Bobby can hear Rufus munching on something crunchy. “I am not attracted to...loose women.”

“Loose men?” asks Dean cheekily.

“One, yes,” Castiel answers.

It’s quiet upstairs again. Bobby wonders if they’re doing that weird damn thing where they try and eat each other through their eyeballs. He casts an eye across the table and watches Sam nurse an empty mug of coffee. A cursory glance at the counter shows an open canister of coffee, a filter in the basket, and exactly nothing happening.

“Bobby?”

“Rufus?”

“Wasn’t it a lover’s curse?” he asks. “The original one, I mean, before it got Winchester’d.”

Bobby hums in agreement. He can’t properly verbalize for this, either. Hearing Rufus say “love” is good and bad all at once. It’s been so long, Bobby can’t even remember if they ever said it to each other. Something else he managed to pass along to Dean, apparently.

“So shouldn’t they be...hell, man, I don’t know. Reciting sonnets and singing R&B at each other?”

Sam leans in with that keen bloodhound look he gets in his eyes right before he causes intelligent trouble for Bobby. “So get this,” he says, and Bobby’s got to get him a better catchphrase, too. “Dean is constantly pining. I mean, Juliet looking wistfully out the window of her Impala levels of pining. The problem is that he’s Dean, and he won’t let himself have anything nice that doesn’t come baked in a pie with fourteen chemicals.”

Bobby concedes to himself and his Maker that his genetics are absolute garbage.

“Maybe he just needs a nudge,” he suggests, and Sam makes a face. “Alright, poor choice of words.” Bobby’s batting a thousand, and all he plays is catch.

Well. Not counting Rufus, anyway. If only Rufus didn’t count so much.

“Are we ‘bout to play matchmaker for your idjit brother and his shoulder angel?”

Sam shrugs. “We’ve probably done and likely will do worse.”

“Boy’s got a point there, Bobby.”

“Think they’re still playing staring contest up there, Sam?” asks Bobby, though he knows already that the answer is “definitely” and “absolutely” and “they could star in a Bausch & Lomb commercial.” He doesn’t wait for an answer, just goes straight for the broom and starts banging on the ceiling.

_Bang! Bang! Bang!_

“Dean.”

 _Bang! Bang!_ And the plaster is forming a lovely dust cloud over Bobby’s head--Sam, unfortunately, has his head right in it.

“Dean!”

_Bang! Bang! Bang!_

“You should probably answer him,” says Castiel. “Otherwise, you’ll have to fix his ceiling.”

“Little busy here, Bobby!”

“No, you ain’t,” shouts Rufus. “Oughta put some back into it.”

“And for the love of God,” Bobby adds, “will you just tell your angel you want to be his damn valentine?”

He’s expecting more silence. What they get, instead, is Castiel grumbling, “It would be nice if you would just say it.”

Four people croak out, “What?”

“You’re in love with me,” says Castiel, sounding bored, which is more than a little weird. “You’re very bad at hiding it.”

Dean sputters like the old junker Castiel managed to hotwire back in Buffalo. “Well...I just...it’s...maybe you’re wrong?”

“No, you are in love with me, just like Bobby is in love with Rufus and Sam would trade in literally any of us for a chance at having a dog and a law degree.”

Bobby’s broom falters. He turns the phone toward Sam because he knows Rufus would want to give him the evil eye.

“What?” Sam asks as he makes a newspaper hat. “How is any of this surprising to anyone? Dean loves Cas, Bobby loves Rufus, Sam loves dogs.” He runs his thumbnail down a crease. “It’s like no one pays attention to this shitshow but me.”

“Which of you assholes let a goddamn cricket into my house?”

“You’re in love with me, Bobby?” Rufus has no discernible emotion in his voice. “Why the hell didn’t you fight harder to stay together?”

“Shit,” says Bobby, “I don’t know. Hunters are hard-wired for poor decision-making, and I’ve had my fair share of concussions.” He wrestles with himself for a second before going on. “And I might have something of a struggle with emotions beyond yelling at people.”

“But that’s what I _like_ about you, Bobby,” Rufus tells him. “You get all the best kinds of angry.”

Bobby rubs the back of his head, then straightens his hat. “Flatterer.” He feels all gooey on the inside, and he’s never been particularly comfortable with feeling like a melted Werther’s Original. It makes him feel as old as he is.

“That makes it your turn,” Castiel says upstairs, dumping another truckload of gravel in Bobby’s back lot.

“Good luck with that.” Sam’s moved on from his hat--a perfectly pointed tricorner--to folding animals out of the wedding announcements. “Emotional constipation is the glue that holds Dean togeth--”

“I need you.”

All eyes go back to the ceiling; Bobby even tilts the phone on Rufus’ behalf.

“Dean?”

“Cas,” whispers Dean--and Bobby has really got to soundproof the entire damn house. “Cas, baby, I need you.”

“To break the curse?” There’s a fine tremor to Castiel’s voice, like a tiny earthquake.

“For everything.”

“Oh.”

“I mean.” Bobby knows the sound of Dean swallowing and hating himself very well. “Everything-everything.”

“I saved you, Dean,” Castiel says. “Here, and there, and...elsewhen.” Bobby wonders what that means, but knows he isn’t likely to find out.

“Cas--”

“Do you really need me to say that I love you?”

But no one says anything, including the cricket. Bobby thinks it’s a wonder the new sheriff hasn’t rerouted traffic through all the gaps in conversation around here.

 _“Now_ put your back into it!” Rufus finally shouts.

The ceiling protests; Bobby’s pretty sure he can see part of the subflooring. Each time the bed creaks, it’s a different note in a series of mistuned scales. If Bobby had to hazard a guess, they’re still trying to find a manageable position, which can’t be easy when twenty-five-percent of the couple in question is equine. Sam has apparently just given up and started reenacting the opening of _Firefly_ \--Bobby thinks, _That would be a good series to sit down and watch with Rufus._ Regardless, watching Sam talking to himself with small paper dinosaurs is...more disturbing than Bobby cares to admit, and less unlikely than he chooses to consider.

“Is he puttin’ his back into it?” asks Rufus.

_Thump-thump-thump._

“He’s puttin’ my whole fuckin’ _house_ into it!”

_Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump._

“You could always move in with me.”

_Thump. Thump._

“The hell I could!”

_Thump._

“What you got against my damn house?”

And then Castiel shouts, and every window shatters like Bobby lives at the Paris Opera.

Sam doesn’t look up from his miniature Jurassic period. “I think Dean has located the prostate.”

“Oh, you _think?”_ Bobby shakes his head, then sighs. He’s getting used to doing that these days. “Make yourself useful and start another pot of coffee, Sam.”

Rufus laughs. “Where you think you are, Bobby? Café Américain?”

“So you finally watched _Casablanca,”_ Bobby marvels, reaching across the table to grab a paper triceratops.

“Maybe I missed you.”

Bobby licks his lips and adjusts one of the paper horns, trying not to grin. “Dammit, Rufus.”

“Can you repeat that?” asks Rufus. “I can’t hear you over the shrieking eels.”

“Get your ass on the road and come help me fix my house.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you're wondering what in the actual hell is going on, there's this little thing called [SPN Coldest Hits](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/SPNColdestHits). I love this challenge to bits. This month was "[Getting Horny](http://spncoldesthits.tumblr.com/post/155157656695/januarys-prompt-posting-dates-15-18th-of)" which I was all too glad to help out with. It was nice to come back to my SPN roots with some ridiculous Destiel (and my beloved Brufus).
> 
> Comment and kudos as you see fit. The Coldest Hits rules have changed, and I never play to win, anyway. :)
> 
> ***
> 
> [[about me](http://shiphitsthefan.tumblr.com/about)] [[tumblr](http://shiphitsthefan.tumblr.com/)] [[twitter](https://twitter.com/shiphitsthefan)]
> 
> Kudos and comments validate my existence. <3


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